


The Fox and the Doe

by seelieknight



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, acomaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seelieknight/pseuds/seelieknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elain gest a slight injury. Lucien ends up confessing his sins. One-Shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fox and the Doe

There was something awful about her loveliness. Perhaps it was the way it made him revisit memories of long forgotten fields, the scent of burning apples, the sound of wind as it spilled through a million fiery tree tops. He knew it then, when she’d stared at him and didn’t flinch. Elain was his autumn. 

And she made him feel homesick.

Her burnished gold hair was plaited into loose braids, a crown of simple flowers nestled carelessly atop her head. Where her neck was exposed, showing off the column of her throat, an elegant choker glowed stark against her milky complexion. Her eyes, once a warm brown, seemed honeyed in the dawn light—maple, like the thick syrup his mother used to keep in old glass jars for when her sons behaved long enough to have breakfast together. She had many jars still unopened as a result, and two less sons.

But whereas Lucien longed for the scent of bonfire smoke and burning harvest herbs, of nights spent under a yellow, equinox moon, Elain made him ache for the taste cinnamon—as though to taste her would be like coming home.

And so, to withstand such urgent compulsions, Lucien could only describe the way he felt as similar to the emotions that tormented him when he’d first left the Autumn Court. To love something and not be able to cherish it the way it deserved.

He’d known that feeling for so long, it was nearly enough to grant him the strength to turn away from her. And he would have, if not for a small gasp and the shock of pain that lingered through some uncharted bond.

He was suddenly at her side.

“Elain,” he breathed.

She was crouched in a field of wild flowers, her ivory dress flowing behind her with the breeze. She clutched her hands to her chest, where he heard every single thump of her heart as if he had his ear pressed against her breasts. A small trickle of crimson dribbled down the side of her palm, staining the white of her gown.

He felt himself go taught.

“Lucien,” she winced.

“Let me see.”

Slowly, his mate placed her bleeding hand inside of his much larger one. He grasped her wrist gently and pried open her fingers to reveal a shallow cut running from her thumb to the heel of her palm. He cursed viciously.

Then his head shot up and he stared at her in horror. “Forgive me, I—,”

To his utter astonishment, she began to laugh. “I’ve heard far worse, most of which came from my sisters. Now tell me, will I live?”

For a dark moment, the question sent an unwanted trickle of horror down his spine. The mere thought of anything causing her such harm had his baser side rising from the abyss. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, but he stopped short upon hearing her soft exhalation.

His mate was playing with him.

The corner of Lucien’s lips quirked, eyes bright and looming. But the scent of salt permeated his senses, and he was bought back to reality with brutal resistance. He closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing down to check her wound. “The cut is fairly deep, but with my experience in gardening tragedies I’d say you’ll live.”

“So I will keep the hand?”

His grin turned feline. “Yes, Elain. You will keep the hand.”

She returned his coy smile with one of her own, and his grin died down as his mouth parted slightly. She frowned at him, cocking her head ever so delicately. “What is it?”

Lucien tucked her injured palm into his chest, lovingly placing it between his ribs to staunch the blood flow against his clean tunic. “Nothing I—I was…” he paused, eyes never leaving her face, “You’re ethereal.”

Those honeyed orbs undressed his soul as she gazed back at his russet and metal ones. A doe greeting a fox, only to prove that the doe was far more cunning and capable. The poor fox didn’t stand a chance.

He noted, with some wonderment, that she didn’t blush. As though she’d been granted similar compliments all her life and they meant little more to her than had she just been informed of the dreary weather. Such beauty and strength in this one, and such danger for him. 

“Thank you,” she finally whispered, blinking down at her hand pressed against his chest.

Lucien’s other hand hesitantly reached out towards her cheek, pausing a breadth away, so close that the loose strands of her braids tickled his palm. Heat coursed through him as she peered back at his face and slowly titled her head closer, placing her fragile cheekbone across his trembling fingertips.

“You’re accustomed to that, aren’t you? The appraisal?” 

Fearing he’d make her upset, he was about to trample on when she spoke up softly. “Yes. I am.” Although she’d said it like a fact, there was an undercurrent of resentment–not directed at him–curled on her tongue. 

“I’ve always been the pliant daughter. The pretty one who does her best. And although I can’t say I want to throttle anyone who compliments my appearance, because that would be wonderfully conceited, it does become painful to hear often. It’s as though that’s all the see, or care for.”

A snarl built in his throat, but he managed to bite out, “Then they’re all damned fools.”

She didn’t say anything, so he continued.

“I see you, Elain. I see your fire. And I see how ethereal you are on the inside, not just the out. Your kindness is near irresistible, and your compassion for others, even during these times of war, confuses me because I can’t seem to fathom how a creature such as yourself has been bestowed in our awful realm of mottled beauty and false sympathy. You’re a goddess amongst us, and I stand in awe every day at your words of mercy, and at the tenderness in which you look upon your sisters.”

She blinked at him, too stunned to say a word.

“I don’t deserve that kind of compliment, Lucien. I’m no goddess, I can barely hold my own against such evils.”

This time he didn’t hold back his snarl. “That isn’t true. You’re stronger than you think.”

She didn’t back down from his anger, not radiated towards her she knew, but instead shook her head. 

Lucien couldn’t meet her eyes as he began to tell her everything that had plagued him.

“I’m awful, Elain. And not just for all the things I’ve done in the past, but for the things I didn’t do. I’ve let my best friend, my closest companion and the one person who offered me a home, become a monster. He helped me when I would have ended myself, but now that he’s turning into a shadow of his father…I can’t even speak up to him. How can I help someone when I cannot help myself? I’m weak. I’m so, so fucking weak. And I’m absolutely terrified.”

Her face was neutral, not revealing anything to him as he dragged in another breath.

“And when your sister came…when Tamlin carried her over the wall and dropped her in our realm…” Lucien’s jaw clenched and he ran a hand against his face. “Feyre was lost, as I had been lost a century before, yet I was too ignorant to help her. Where I was cowardly, Feyre was courageous. And she left, she got out…with help, I know, but…she had the balls to leave and to not look back. So when Tamlin sent me and his men to hunt her down, I didn’t refute him. I was blind then, and confused, and terrified for both my friends. However, nothing compares to what happened when I finally found her.”

Lucien looked up at Elain, and his eyes were burning with dread, face stricken. “Elain, I tried to grab her. I didn’t listen to her, or bother to see what was so obvious then. All I knew was that my High Lord was in a fury, and his fiancé had been taken by an enemy court. Feyre, though….Feyre looked as though she was the one who’d taken herself from Spring. She looked like her own savior, something I at once admired and loathed. And it was those thoughts that made me stumble, that made me hasty to get us out of those woods. I lunged for her, and possibly would have seized her, had she not been training all those months.”

Near the edge of the garden, the air dripping with mist, a rabbit stood at attention, frozen, staring seemingly at the two of them from a distance away. It’s eyes were fully black.

His lungs squeezed tight as he fought to tell the rest of the story, the worst of it. “To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I’d succeeded in my task. If I’d returned Tamlin’s stolen consort. One, I’d been woken by such a nightmare that I remained awake the following hours of dawn, emptying the contents of my stomach. I wondered if that’s how Feyre felt, when Tamlin didn’t go to comfort her during her night terrors. And that thought made me grip the toilet once more until there was nothing left to pass up.”

While Feyre woke each night, drenched in her horrors and silently crying out for someone, Lucien stared wide-eyed at his bedroom ceiling, at a loss. He knew if he went to her aid, Tamlin would know. And what his friend would do after hearing of Lucien’s interference…he didn’t dare find out. Weak, cowardly, Mother forsaken bastard.

“When she returned with us to Spring, after our confrontation with Hybern, I knew she hadn’t changed. She was always stronger than the rest of us, but that strength had been restored anew, and had thrived into something I couldn’t place. Her strength inspired me, yes. But I want you to know that it was you, Elain, who made me act.”

When it became apparent that they were going to war, that the realm was finally welcoming the worst of all the battles they’d secured…all he could think about was her. What would happen to the gentle daughter of a merchant, who loved plants and had a revolutionary’s heart. He’d thought then that he’d go to war for her, and he’d bring down the whole Autumn Court in the process if that’s what it took to keep her safe. He’d realized then what needed to occur. He realized then that he needed to proclaim himself an individual.

Elain’s softness wasn’t her downfall—it was her strength. Lucien’s silence would no longer be his undoing—it would be his power.

There’s a revolution to be heard, if one would be quite enough to listen.

The two of them knew this, and more.

Now, Lucien was still timid of a great many things. War, his brothers, those under his lead, and the women sitting next to him. But now…now he had something to fight for. He had hope.

So he timidly met Elain’s eyes, and become baptized beneath the embers in her stare. He didn’t breathe as she leaned in closer, their noses almost touching, auburn hair mixing with sun-washed gold. “You are not your scars, Lucien.”

Those words were his ultimate undoing.

His shoulders collapsed and his forehead fell into the crook of her throat, taking in her familiar aroma like the first scent of fire at dusk. Elain’s slim arms wrapped around his neck and back, holding him firmly against her. He closed his eyes.

“You are not your past. The things that have happened to you are atrocious, and the hurt you’ve had to suffer alone has lead you to be wary of the world. But I’m here, and you’re finally here, and although I’m terrified of many things too…when we’re together, the only fear I have is how bold I become. How empowered I am at your side. Together, we can help each other become ourselves again. I promise you. Nothing will come between us and that promise.”

She felt a cold trickle against her collarbone and sucked in a gasp when she felt him crying. Elain rubbed his back, knowing through their bond that Lucien couldn’t form words enough to thank her for this moment. He thanked her, anyway, through a rasping sob, as he tightened his grip on her waist and burrowed himself into her warmth.

Elain’s red rimmed eyes glowed as she beheld a fox crossing the path the rabbit had perched. Behind the kit, the sky burned like a crisp leaf, or a new friend, or the start of a revolution.

They kept their silence as the night dragged on—eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms, too content to leave their positions. Her blood had dried out, as did his tears. The following dawn, a native stablehand would find the two curled around on another like woodland creatures huddled into the soil and saturated fabrics of their garbs—her head against his neck, his arms wrapped around her chest, legs interwoven, hair spewed every which way.

In the morning they’d face the world. For now, they’d rest.

**Author's Note:**

> This ship is what I like to call “poetic porn” for reasons you’ll find in the passage. Their love is lingering—hesitant—but burns when put too near a fire. When I think about Elain and Lucien, even if I could potentially write the most primitive sex scene without anything fluffy, it’s near impossible to get in touch with a side of me that isn’t bursting with nostalgia. Out of all the ACOTAR ships, these two (perhaps aside from Feyrhys) seem the most right together. Forgive the sappy mess. I can’t contain myself.


End file.
